


Sailing

by toesohnoes



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy takes Chekov home when they have a break. They take his boat out on the lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sailing

**Author's Note:**

> Written at my [Tumblr](http://toestastegood-fic.tumblr.com/post/16589463481/the-summer-sun-feels-good-on-his-skin-all-of-his).

The summer sun feels good on his skin - all of his skin. McCoy is as bare as the day he was born as he rests in his boat on the lake, natural warmth filling up his entire body. The water ripples gently in the breeze, rocking the boat, and he thinks that he could sit like this for eternity. He closes his eyes just to enjoy it more.

“This is a very welcome sight,” Chekov says, sitting behind him on the shore.

McCoy cranes to look over his shoulder, squinting his eyes against the bright midday sun. Chekov is still dressed in his trousers, but he’s shed his shirt at least - exposed to the heat, Chekov’s torso is paper white. He’ll burn in no time.

That doesn’t stop McCoy from grinning and gesturing for him to come over to the boat. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he complains.

With an answering smile, Chekov gets to his feet and obliges McCoy’s unasked request. He undoes the button of his trousers with a flick of his thumb and then pulls them down his coltish legs, stripping himself of the rest of his clothes efficiently. McCoy greedily takes in the sight of him as if it might be the last time he gets the chance to do so. Young and beautiful and ridiculously intelligent, Chekov still hasn’t been smart enough to turn around and run as far away from McCoy as he can get.

Instead he wades out into the shallows of the lake in order to reach McCoy’s boat. With a soundtrack of splashes and laughter they manage to get him inside, where he can rest against McCoy’s chest, bracketed by McCoy’s leg. McCoy rubs his hand across Chekov’s slim torso, hiding a smile against the top of Chekov’s head, buried in his curls of hair. It’s not going to last forever, McCoy’s sure of that - but he’s sure as hell going to enjoy this while he still can.


End file.
